


chast(e)ise

by 님 (nymmiah)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Attempted first time, Aymeric is Too Pure, Communication is Sexy, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Flirting, Foreplay, Light Bondage, Mild D/s, Newlywed Couple - Freeform, Roleplay, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), aymeric is a service top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:53:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymmiah/pseuds/%EB%8B%98
Summary: The Warrior of Light envisioned many things concerning her wedding night with Aymeric de Borel, but nothing quite like this.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Comments: 10
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should be progressing in the MSQ and/or writing other things, but here I am, with yet another f!WoL/Aymeric thing.
> 
> Written with a viera in mind, but the race of the WoL is mostly unspecified.

Aymeric de Borel was resplendent in his robes of white velvet and golden embellishments. Perfectly tailored, it emphatically hid his form most enticingly, clinging to the gentle strength of his shoulders and cinched at his thin hips. As he moved, the fabric swayed, draping over his limbs in a manner that emphasised the confidence of each motion, the strict control he so had over his body.

When they had stood in the Vault, so lit by the sunlight shining through panes of stained glass, he had been a vision sent by the Twelve. As he spoke his vows of eternal devotion and duty to her, his voice had been forthright and proud, filled with a heartbreaking wealth of love that was almost impossible for her to match.

When he had cupped her cheek and drawn her in to take hold of her hand, he had been radiant in white; deific, mayhap some would say, with how the colour stood in relief against his stunningly blue eyes and tousled hair.

It was understandable why the Lord Commander was so beloved and coveted by the people of Ishgard. No man could be so beautifully formed, in both body and in mind.

The Warrior thought that it was almost a shame that he would have to remove those robes.

However, the Warrior had enjoyed her fill of the magnificent view of Aymeric in his ceremonial robes throughout their hand-fasting, and now—it was time to enjoy her fill of something far more anticipated.

She strode into Aymeric’s chambers, and turned to watch him where he hesitated, as if unsure whether to follow her. Their wrists were yet tied; Aymeric had been quietly emphatic on keeping the ribbon of their marriage yet tight.

Aymeric’s countenance was filled with a form of anxiousness that she had met before. It was most endearing that he would not boldly enter his own chambers, so worried that she would flinch away from the force of his desires and anticipation.

The Warrior had not flinched from the fury of summoned gods; she would not flinch from the depth of Aymeric’s love.

“Would you not enter your rooms with me?” The Warrior asked with a smile, holding out her free hand in invitation. “I should think that my lord husband would have cared to join me upon our marriage bed. Or shall I have to consummate this marriage alone?”

“I…” Aymeric’s voice, deep and husky, failed him and his eyes were wide with surprise. She could stop not her mirth as he moved towards her, reaching out to grab her hand with an unsupressable need. Even as she smiled, holding him close, his breath was shaky and overcome with emotion. “No, you shall not have to. Nevertheless, I can hardly believe that you are my _wife_ ,” he murmured brokenly into her ear, almost as if a plea for her to confirm his hopes and fears.

“It is as ordained by the priests, and observed under the eyes of Halone and Ishgard,” she agreed, releasing his hand to stroke gently his hair. His blue eyes, more azure than the sea could ever hope to be, glistened before her with an emotion most sincere. “We are wed, Aymeric de Borel. You had best come to terms of these shackles; I should hardly wish to free you from my manacles.”

Something akin to a laugh escaped him, and she held him as he shook. Tears had suddenly burst forth from his eyes, and his complexion was red. He swiftly raised his arms, turning his head away from her.

“ _Gods_ —mine apologies. I had thought myself past the point of tears; evidently not."

The Warrior smiled, and she took hold of his fingers, pulling his hand from his countenance.

His uncharacteristic shyness, his timid glances at her, bespoke of how overcome he was at this event. Aymeric had always been so abundant in love for her that he seemed unable to express it in this moment. He was truly a blessing to her; she could be no luckier.

“Apologise not for your happiness.” She kissed his cheeks, his eyelids, freeing his reddened skin of his overwhelmed weeping. His tears were bitter upon her tongue for all their sweet sentiment. “Instead, share it with me as you have so vowed this very day, husband mine."

Aymeric's answering smile was resplendent. His eyes, reddened and wet; the brightness of his cheeks--he looked at her as if she had hung the sun and the moons and stars in the skies for him. She would have, had she the capacity for it; his gaze was full of an adoration she was hard-pressed to match.

"Through all trials and tribulations and through joy and peace alike," he agreed, echoing the words spoken by the priest who had ordained their matrimony. His joyous expression turned shy once more, and he lowered his eyes. "As we are now one, so shall we experience life together."

Through the virtue of the veil of his dark lashes, the innocent look turned far more suggestive. He had been ever virtuous, his behaviour beyond reproach--he could not be attempting at seduction, for she was certain that he didn’t know how to do so. Nevertheless, by the very nature of his beauty, he made her _want_ where she had never wanted before.

The Warrior reached up, caressing the side of his head. He leaned into her touch with a sigh. His lips parted as her fingertips followed the curve of his jaw up, tracing the long line of his ear.

Never had she dared to touch him so boldly, and he had never allowed her to touch him in anything but a manner chaste. He had made it explicit that he considered such a touch, innocent by her own standards, as unchaste. A soft, stuttered sound escaped him at the touch, and he closed his eyes, tense.

The flash of heat that sound elicited coiled in the pit of her abdomen. His voice, low and sweet, could inspire men to fight and die for him. She was not immune.

Viscerally, painfully, she desired him. However, he was a lily yet to bloom, furled up and unready for her.

"Shall we wait, dearest heart?" The Warrior asked. "I would not have you until you wish for it."

He started, lifting his chin to gaze at her with wide eyes.

"--Nay, I could not ask you to wait, nor deny myself of you." Aymeric looked away once more, a bashful smile appearing on his face. “I… must admit that I have thought of this moment. Mayhap more times than I should admit. I could hardly decide nor imagine how this should occur, and I am rather paralysed by it.”

When Aymeric said _this,_ he attempted to raise his hand to gesture between them. Her wrist rose with his, and she smiled.

“You’ve thought about it. Did you concoct some manner of plan, Ser Aymeric?” The Warrior asked in jest. “I should think that the Lord Commander would have employed a tactic most cunning for this… joust.”

His eyes, unclouded skies that they were, gleamed. The innuendo had evidently not gone unnoticed by him, and he cleared his throat before he spoke.

“Several plans have I, though... I should like to discuss them with you. I would most deeply appreciate your contributions and input, Warrior of Light.”

“Allow me to hear your designs, Lord Commander,” she replied warmly, and she could see how the tips of his ears turned red.

For a long while, he was silent, doubtlessly wrestling with embarrassment at whatever crude thoughts he would lay down before them. She would listen to them, wait in anticipation for whatever thoughts he had, but only if he had the courage to voice them.

“Firstly, I… considered undressing.”

“A bold but cunning first move,” she replied. “One’s armour _does_ hinder one’s movements.”

Aymeric yet darkened, and he glanced down at her dress for the briefest of moments. Swiftly did he turn his eyes away, evidently self-conscious.

“But… ah, your _armour_ does fit you most becomingly. It would do the seamstre—I mean, the armourers who made it, a disservice by casting it aside.”

“And yet, it had already fulfilled its purpose. Is it not wise to set armour aside to be repaired once used?” The Warrior asked, smiling when he paused. She could see the apple of his throat tremble back and forth as he swallowed.

“Mayhap so. I shall defer to your judgement in this case, Warrior. Nevertheless, I shall speak of my other plans… unless you had any thoughts you should like to voice?” Aymeric’s devotion to the roles that the Warrior had cast them in was admirable. If not for the content of their words, and the true meaning behind them, she could picture this conversation taking place in the Congregation.

“Nay. Pray, continue on, Lord Commander.”

“Should the… armour remain on, I would begin with…” Aymeric paused, struggling with his wording. His conflict was clear upon his mien, and she had to stifle the urge to smile. “An approach from the south. While most would claim an uphill battle would not be easily won, I should think that the unconventional tactic may have some merit in this context.”

The Warrior had to take pause at his words, so caught by the image he had posited. Would he kneel? Or would he lay her down, working his way up from her ankle?

She inhaled slowly, deeply, the heat inspired earlier only growing with each word she spoke. “Indeed, having the upper ground may make one most overconfident. They may be far easier to overpower and make fall upon their backs.”

“Ah—yes. Indeed,” Aymeric replied, coughing and looking most flustered.

The Warrior leaned in. “What else have you in mind?”

Aymeric straightened up, and she was pulled towards him when he attempted to bring both of his hands behind his back. Bumping her forehead against his chest, she let out a surprised cry—

And the tension had broken.

She found herself laughing into his doublet, which trembled beneath her with his own laughter. His eyes were soft as he regarded her. Bending down, he kissed her deeply, fervently, with every ilm of love that he had to spare.

“Mayhap it would be wise to improvise instead in this bout,” he murmured against her lips. “It would be a most informative event, wherein I shall learn much about mine opponent.”

Their wrists so connected by the white ribbon of their hand-fasting allowed him to pull her along with her deeper into his chambers.

She followed him willingly, and she laughed at the almost childish eagerness that welled up within her. The same anticipation could be seen within Aymeric, who glanced back at her with reddened cheeks and a joyous countenance.

Such an expression was dear to her. Dearer still was his embarrassment, and she was inspired to asked, “Might we see your skill with a lance, Lord Commander? I should think that a companion of the Azure Dragoon should have learnt how to thrust a spear.”

His smile lessened not, but his laughter had a twinge of nervousness in it. “I—mayhap this was not the best analogy for us to have used,” he remarked. “I would rather not think upon Estinien when I am here with you.”

Her curiosity was piqued, but he clearly wished not to speak on it. She nodded.

“Of course, Aymeric.”

Aymeric nodded, relief clear upon his countenance. He then glanced down at their joined wrists. “I… as much as I would have enjoyed to keep this on for as long as possible, I see now that it will hinder us. Shall I remove it?”

The Warrior nodded. “Allow me.”

Aymeric stopped her not as she raised their joined hands, and she smiled at him as she took hold of the ribbon between her teeth, pulling the ribbon free with a jerk of her head. It lay clenched between her teeth even as Aymeric took hold of its ends in an attempt to stow it away.

Playfully, she snapped at him, as if she were a disobedient pup.

“I would not like this damaged, wife mine,” Aymeric murmured. “Would you be so kind as to allow me to have it?” So calmly and swiftly dissuaded from her fun, she released the ribbon, and he wound it around his fingers.

Nevertheless, she thought it would be a shame to have it locked away so soon, to be treasured at a distance. “Of course… But I would request that you tie it around your neck, Aymeric. Just for tonight.”

His eyes widened, and for the third time that night, he seemed overwhelmed.

“... Yes,” he breathed out, and he raised his hands to do so.

She reached up to assist him, carefully knotting the white ribbon so that it wouldn’t cut into his skin or restrict his breathing. His hands took hold of her wrists, preventing her from pulling them away, and brought her palms to his chest.

Aymeric watched her with those sapphire eyes, beautiful with his hair so tousled and his neck adorned with their sign of marriage. He then looked downwards, at the corset of her dress. As chaste as ever, she could see his eyes flicker away each time they unwittingly rested upon her chest.

“May I undress you? Those laces upon your back… you know not what they do to me,” he murmured.

The Warrior retrieved her hands from his grip and turned around in a silent display of acquiesce, tipping her head forward to allow him to push her gathered hair to the side, his hands resting upon her shoulders.

Then, the sound of shifting fabric came, and the slow rasp of cord against metal as those tight laces were unbound. Looser, and looser still, her bodice eventually fell from her chest. The skirt of her dress was yet tight around her hips, keeping the entire piece on. She could hear his breath catch, and his stifled attempt of a moan.

His fingertips gingerly ran down the length of her spine, and he breathed quiet words of praise behind her. “You are… entirely impossible in your beauty,” he whispered. He did not touch her any further.

When she turned to ascertain his emotion, he flinched back and turned away, his countenance having turned entirely red at the sight of her partial nudity. She was yet wearing her smallclothes, though they were most sheer, hiding nothing despite clothing her chest entirely. The weavers of Ul’dah had well earned their reputation.

“Too much?” She asked, amused despite herself at his chaste nature.

Aymeric nodded, a hint of an overwhelmed smile upon his countenance. “I… should have expected that you would be unclothed when I did that,” he admitted. “You… are you okay?”

She would not have allowed him to unlace her dress if she hadn’t, but that was not the reassurance Aymeric needed.

“I am your wife. If you could not look upon my naked body, I could hardly think of someone else with such privilege!” The Warrior exclaimed. She took hold of his hand, ignoring how he flinched back from her touch, and she pulled it forth to rest upon her breast.

There was a sharp intake of breath from him.

“You may touch me however you will, Aymeric,” she stated firmly. “If you will not dare to, then I shall have my way with you instead and lash your hands behind your back.”

Aymeric looked stunned by her words, flustered at the thought. His hand remained frozen upon her chest, curled back in an attempt to minimise his contact with her flesh.

“Shall I make good upon my words?” The Warrior asked. “Or would you truly not wish to have my touch at all to-night?”

The Lord Commander looked away. “I don’t know. I… I desire you greatly. I truly do.”

And yet. “You can scarcely even look at my naked flesh and you can hardly bear my touch. I will not take offense if you cannot bed me tonight. I shall wait for as long as I need until you are ready,” the Warrior reminded. “I have waited for you since we first met. Think not about the expectations of your people. I have not a single doubt that you have been urged to consummate our marriage. Remember: I already have all of you, husband mine, and I am not fulfilled by a single act of lust on our wedding night. I am fulfilled instead by having you present in my life, my future.”

Aymeric fell silent, his eyes remaining fixed upon something to her left in what appeared to be shame.

“It is no disappointment to me if I am not bedded this night. However, I shall be most put-out if you force yourself into something you cannot fully enjoy,” she continued, far softer. She gathered up her fallen bodice, holding it to her chest. “How about we retire this night, and we attempt this when you are more ready?”

She turned to the door.

“You—will you leave?” Aymeric asked, almost desperately.

The Warrior tilted her head to the side. “If you cannot bear the thought of sleeping with me in your bed, then shall I retire to my room. Otherwise, I intend on sharing your bed tonight.”

The relief that flooded his expression was palpable. “Stay. Prithee, stay.”

The Warrior smiled at him, reaching out with a free hand to stroke his cheek. He looked heartbreakingly devastated by his inability to touch her sexually, but he yet remained her beloved husband. She would endeavour to remind him of that. “Of course, Aymeric. I shall take momentary leave to change out of this gown and into something less encumbersome for bed. Mayhap you should do the same?”

“Yes, Warrior. I shall,” Aymeric replied, his demeanour expressing an air most defeated and humiliated.

She would not allow such an expression to remain. Taking hold of his chin, she drew him into a kiss, gentle and slow. Only when he began to respond did she pull away, yet smiling at him.

“Do not look so glum, my love. I judge you not on your deeds, but by your heart. I love you dearly, and this shall not change that one whit.” The Warrior released him. “Now, await my return—I anticipate most greatly what you look like in your sleepwear.”

Turning, she left his bedroom to the adjacent chambers that she had claimed, finding in there her chiffon shifts that she preferred to sleep within.

Shedding the entrapments of her wedding gown, there was a faint regret that she would not be able to see his reaction to the delicate stockings that she had worn underneath, but she would allow herself to fulfill one fantasy of hers that night: his reaction to her unbound hair. Removing the clips took far too much time without assistance, but once she had removed them all, she tied it up into a simple bun.

So freed from the dress, she returned to his chambers, where he now stood in simple cotton in a deep blue befitting of his title and house. Around his neck remained the white ribbon she had tied, and she could help not the flutter within her breast at the sight.

The Warrior smiled at him, at his surprise. “Did you not think I would return?”

“Nay… it was not that. You… I was merely surprised. You look far different to your norm in this,” he replied, gesturing vaguely at the shift. “I am used to you in your leathers.”

“Leathers would be most uncomfortable to sleep in. Forgive me, that I could not dress as I usually do,” she replied in jest. “Now… my lord husband.”

“Yes, Warrior?” He stammered at her address.

“I would have you lead me to your bed,” she directed, holding a hand out for him to take. He did so, reflexively, and he kissed her knuckles tenderly. She made nary a comment upon it, instead taking his affection as a sign of his attempts to make up for whatever slight he believed he had caused her.

He let go of her hand once they stood by it, and she took hold of the tie in her hair and pulled it loose. His sharp intake of breath betrayed his interest, and she hid her smile behind her hair as she pulled back his sheets, crawling upon the bed to slip under them. After a moment’s hesitation, he joined her—and he let out a soft huff when she pressed herself to him, embracing him with far more abandon than he would have expected from her.

So tightly and closely entwined, she could hear his heart racing under her ear and his legs tense under hers.

“You may hold me,” she murmured. When he did not move, she changed tact. “I want you to embrace me tonight, one way or another. Hold me, Aymeric.”

Aymeric let out a sound. “I… yes. Mine apologies. I am not used to laying with someone. Nevertheless my wife.”

The Warrior laughed softly, even as she felt his arms wind around her torso to hold her in return, hands placed most chastely at her waist and back. “Your most demanding wife of not even six bells,” she corrected.

Aymeric’s response was quiet. “My loving and most gracious wife, who forgives me of the unforgivable, who forgives me of disrespecting her. My wife, whom I deserve not.”

“Tush you. T’was not disrespect,” she replied. “You would not send out a recruit into battle without training. I would not expect you to thrust your lance at me without any preparation or readiness whatsoever.”

Her choice of words startled a laugh from him, and he relaxed beneath her, far more at ease.

“Though I would agree upon one thing that you have said. I truly am your wife,” she remarked, looking up at him.

Aymeric looked down at her, eyes wide and countenance soft. “Indeed,” he agreed. “And I, your husband.”

She kissed him soundly upon his smiling mouth, and she felt him sigh against her lips. Holding him by the back of his neck, she pulled away.

The Warrior of Light, now named Lady Borel, grinned. “May your Halone strike down all those who would claim otherwise.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops. This is a "what-if" thing.  
> Also known as "foreplay is better than sex" and "communication is sexy".

> _“You may touch me however you will, Aymeric,” she stated firmly. “If you will not dare to, then I shall have my way with you instead and lash your hands behind your back.”_
> 
> _Aymeric looked stunned by her words, flustered at the thought. His hand remained frozen upon her chest, curled back in an attempt to minimise his contact with her flesh._

And before the Warrior could react, he looked down, his manner almost demure as he nodded once.

The act was slow, the smallest lift of his chin.

“--I could not lie to you. That sounds most… intriguing. Would you kindly--pray, take this not the wrong way, but would you kindly show me how you would have me?” Aymeric murmured delicately.

His countenance had turned red, full of penitence at his admission. He was lovely in his perceived shame over his own desire. 

The Warrior smiled, and she reached up to cup his cheek within her palm. The hand that she had not restrained moved to cover hers, threading their fingers together.

“It is a shame we have placed our bond around thy neck,” she replied just as quietly. Kissing him softly upon his lips, she felt him sigh into her mouth. “I should think it would look just as ravishing holding your wrists together behind your back, my love.”

Aymeric’s eyes, azure pools, were bright as he gazed back at her.

“Ah--surely we could find some manner of substitute? Some other bondage to... as you have said, lash my hands?” He replied. His hand had slowly unfurled against her chest, his palm resting flat upon her sternum where she had placed it. It was warm, the touch searing in its unfamiliarity.

“Shall I bind your wrists with your belt?” She asked. However, she was certain that the white leather would undoubtedly chafe, for thick and unwieldy it was.

Aymeric glanced away. “--Mayhap you should use the laces of your bodice,” he suggested softly. It seemed impossible for his countenance to turn any redder--yet darker he became, his very ears and neck blushing most becomingly in his embarrassed desire.

He was lovely, beautiful and radiant.

“If that is your desire, then pray, unlace me fully my lord husband. And I would have you undress yourself for me thereafter,” the Warrior requested, smiling at him.

Full eager did he come forward, his hands shakily taking hold of her bodice where it lay limp around her hips. He continued to pull free the white lace from the fabric, loosening it once more. The lace was wound around his wrist, and soon, her dress fell from her hips.

With the dress pooled upon the floor, she stood before him in naught but her smallclothes and lace, legs yet clad in a sheer white fabric that held the sigil of his house upon its hem. However, his eyes lingered not upon her smallclothes, and instead, fixated fully upon the curve of her hip, the skin so exposed upon her abdomen.

She had not the time to feel any disappointment at his lack of reaction to the lace. He seemed overcome by whatever has him so transfixed, for he knelt then before her.

The Lord Commander of the Temple Knights was the very picture of a pious knight in that moment, gazing up at her with awe filling his eyes and adulation upon his lips. Gilded and white was he, lit by the light of the fire and candles of his chambers.

Her name was softly called in a tone that could only be reminiscent of prayer.

"--You are magnificent,” Aymeric whispered. His hands came up to gingerly rest upon her waist, his thumbs caressing her navel most gently. “May I kiss you?” He asked quietly. “I--I find myself full of desire to kiss your every ilm. Never have I wanted… no, never have I allowed myself to want something so much. Pray, allow me to do so.”

The Warrior reached down, caressing his crown by threading her fingers through his hair. She stroked his inky locks, and watched how he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch with utter reverence in his every motion.

She gently stroked the lengths of his ear, and he shuddered under her touch.

“Undress yourself, gentle knight,” she commanded. “And I shall allow you your heart’s desires.”

He stood not from his knelt position. His head bowed before her, Aymeric shed his robes with an impatience that she had yet to see within him, all but throwing them to the side in his haste. Despite his haste, the multitude of layers hindered him from fulfilling her command so swiftly.

His gloves were tossed aside, followed by his overcoat. A vest lay beneath, keeping tight to his skin a silk shirt. Crumpling the pristine cloth, tossing the metal and belts aside--it was rather a shame to see them handled so roughly.

It then came to mind how _delightfully_ he had responded to her words just minutes earlier. How readily he had assumed whatever role she had cast him in. It was this thought that had her act in the following manner:

Aymeric froze when she let out a tut, his waistcoat in his hands.

“Did we not just speak of honouring the service of our seamstresses and armourers?” She asked.

“I--yes, we did,” Aymeric affirmed belatedly. He looked up at her in confusion, though it was tempered by the way he looked away, unable to keep such a steadfast gaze when she was looking down upon him in solely her smallclothes.

She removed her hand from his crown. “Pick up what you have discarded, and set them aside--neatly. I should not have to rebuke you any further, Ser Aymeric, knight of Ishgard.”

She could see how he swallowed, how his posture had stiffened--but this time, it was not in rejection. He was enthralled, just as she was so enraptured by his mannerisms and reactions.

“Mine apologies, my lady Borel,” he murmured demurely. “I have forgotten myself in my excitement.”

He gathered the clothing that he had discarded into his arms. When he took hold of her fallen dress, she stepped out from the circle of white silk and lace, and watched as he rose to his full height. Striding over to the sidetable, he set down his raiments in a mostly orderly fashion.

When he turned to face her once more, he cut the most stunning figure. Half-dressed was he, his shirt unbuttoned and clad in tailored white breeches. She had never seen him clad in so little before, owing to the harsh Ishgardian weather.

His shoulders were not so broad as his clothes would have suggested, but his waist was as trim as she had anticipated. His neck was long, and the circle of white silk around it only made it all the more comely.

She supposed in that moment, she could understand the Ishgardian fixation with one's ankles. His boots, leather and sculpted, were inlaid with gold that drew the eye to his heel. These were not designed with her husband's comfort in mind, but solely for appearance.

The Warrior smiled at him, at the surprise that now etched his countenance. He had only now laid his eyes upon her stockings, it seemed, and he seemed beyond words in that moment.

Unlike previously, he could not tear his gaze from her form. It was gratifying, to say the very least.

“Remove the rest. I would not be the only one so unclothed.”

Aymeric responded with a distant sound of affirmation, his hands clutching at the wooden surface of the table behind him. He moved not, eyes yet fixed upon her thighs.

The Warrior brought one of her legs before the other, crossing them--and the movement startled him to raise his eyes to hers once more.

Realisation came to him belatedly. Embarrassment flooded his countenance in an instant, and he lowered his head. Meek was he before her, abashed by his obvious distraction. “Ah. At once.”

She watched as he reached up to unbutton his shirt, pulling it from his shoulders as if to present himself to her. Stooping down, he undid his boots, fingers cleverly undoing the fastenings hidden at the sides. Fulms of tanned skin were bared, slowly and tantalisingly, as he pulled the strings at his waist loose, stepping out of breeches carefully.

He stood before her in his smallclothes, peering up at her shyly. He was not coy in his nakedness, and instead far more modest in how he stood before her.

Could a man such as Aymeric be described as virginal? His skin was--aglow with some divine and inner light, making her step forth once more to approach him, wishing to touch his scarred flesh.

His breathing stuttered as her hands came to lay upon his chest, following the curve of his musculature to his trembling waist. He shivered underneath her fingers, which explored the fine hairs that covered his skin, pressing and dragging along unexplored topography, and he let out a most delicate sound when she removed her fingers.

Aymeric was coming undone beneath her touch; it was most charming that such a relatively innocent touch could elicit so quiet a moan from his lips.

“Do you still desire to kiss me?” She asked, smiling.

“-- _Yes_ ,” was the fervent response. His eyes burned with desire as he reached for her head, cupping her cheeks as he kissed her with abandon. Hungrily, he crushed their lips together, unskilled in his helpless desire for her.

The vantage his height gave him had her craning backwards as he bore down upon her with his mouth in this most unchaste of kisses. She grabbed at his shoulders to remain close to him, her fingers entangling with his hair.

Teeth and tongue were soon employed in this attack. Something akin to a whine escaped him when she bit at his lips, startled and surprised. Aymeric’s voice, sultry and deep, was all the more so when he lost his inhibitions.

Never had he kissed her so hungrily.

His breath was hot against her cheek when he finally broke the kiss. His lips were reddened, wet, and she had to steal them again for yet another kiss.

This second kiss was followed by a third, and each time, Aymeric grew all the more bold, his hands coming to rest upon her waist, his leg slipping between her own.

So bold he became that his thigh came up between hers. She let out a surprised gasp at the unexpected pressure, the length of his sinuous thigh against her core--and he froze, eyes wide with concern.

“--Warrior?” He asked. Swiftly, his legs drew back, and he stood upright once more, no longer leaning against the table.

The Warrior swallowed, staring up at him. She wanted him.

“Turn around,” she said after a moment, her dry throat lending a hoarseness to her words, “if you would, Ser Aymeric.”

The request perplexed him visibly, but realisation was just as swift to bloom across his countenance. He turned on his heel, presenting her with his back--and most charmingly, he had brought his wrists together, holding himself in place for her to do as she had promised.

The lace that he had removed from her bodice lay on the floor, forgotten when he had undressed himself. She grabbed it, and came up to him, winding the cord around his wrists three times. The length of it was too long for this task, and she would have to wind it around ten times more to come to the ends of the cord.

However, she wished not to cut the flow of blood to his fingers.

“--Pray, hold onto the ends for me.” She requested, kissing his shoulder. He startled at the kiss, unable to see how she grinned at his reaction. “You may release it when it becomes too much.”

“Would you trust me to stay bound?” Aymeric asked quietly.

The Warrior let out a soft laugh. “I trust you to know your limits. And to do your utmost to please me.”

Aymeric glanced at her over his shoulder. “--I could not desire anything more than to please you adequately,” he murmured.

“Then consider yourself most fulfilled.” She reminded him. “You are my husband, and you please me greatly by being so, Aymeric de Borel.”

“Is this so?” Aymeric turned back to face the wall, but the bashful smile that appeared upon his countenance was not hidden fast enough. “Full glad am I to hear it.”

His fingers obediently grasped at the loose ends of the lace, holding it tight. Now restrained, she gently nudged his shoulder to prompt him to turn back around to face her.

Facing the Warrior once more, Aymeric gazed at her with eyes most beckoning, full of desire and awe alike. His shoulders were pushed back in this new posture she now had him in, highlighting the curve of his neck and the swell of his arms, sculpted by decades of training.

She placed her hand upon his chest, and he smiled at her, shakily and stunned.

“Now, I believe I said that I would have my way with you?” She asked.

Aymeric looked away, his smile turning into something far more disbelieving, as if he could not believe his fortune. “Aye, I believe that that was what you promised, my lady wife.”

“Then pray, seat yourself upon our bed.”

He moved upon her behest. Sat upon the mattress, he watched her with hungry eyes as she approached, pushing him further back upon the bed by her proximity. And so they shifted, moving, him losing ground until his back lay flat against the headboard and she knelt above his lap, knees on either side of his thighs.

He could back up no further as she leaned in, and she kissed the tip of his ear. He let out a most peculiar sound as she stayed by his ear, licking at the shell of it--and how he squirmed beneath her under such ministrations!

Biting down lightly at the lobe where the ebony clasps would have sat, she heard him let out a stifled gasp.

“By the Fury,” Aymeric’s words were akin to a groan, “you ruin me, Warrior. Pray, have mercy on me. I could not take this for much longer.”

The Warrior smiled. “I have yet to truly begin, my Lord Commander. Are you already so undone by this singular touch?”

He shuddered at her words. “ _‘Sblood_ ,” he hissed.

“Curse not, my lord, lest your Fury hear your wicked tongue,” she cooed in response, seating herself upon his lap at long last. Aymeric’s countenance was painted in alarum as she slowly shifted forward, moving herself up the length of his thighs in a pace most languid. “Tis not the Twelve that you should call upon in this moment, but the name of your wife.”

She now cradled his hips between her thighs, pressed up against the front of his smallclothes. Beneath her, he was firm, growing harder. He was large; larger than a hyur for certain, and thick against her thigh. He trembled beneath her, attempting to exhale slowly.

Only when he recovered from the touch did she shift herself against him, rubbing herself against his length. Immediately, he tensed, eyes wide.

The strength of his reaction seemed telling. “Have you never done this before?” She asked curiously, placing her hands upon his shoulders to stroke at his neck, attempting to calm him. “I shall not judge you whether you have or have not, but… I should like to know what you know.”

Aymeric’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “I… I have bedded persons before. But not with one whom I love as I love you,” he admitted, “and never once a woman.”

The Warrior hummed. “--I see.” She would disrespect him not by asking for more details. Instead, she reached down, pulling him free of his smallclothes. “I am pleased to know that I shall be your first,” she replied, smiling.

He swallowed back a moan at the touch of her fingers to his length, tilting his head back. “--Am I?”

“Are you what?” She asked idly, lowering herself to bring his member flush against herself. The touch seemed to distract him, and he shivered, eyes closing as she rubbed his tip against the lace of her pants, trembling greater with each pass.

When she did nothing more, he continued. “Your first,” he clarified, his tone most reluctant.

The Warrior tightened her grip around him, and he gasped.

“Would it upset you if I said no?” She asked.

Aymeric opened his eyes, gazing at her with his blue eyes now dark as the deepest of pools. Or mayhap they were more akin to a storm at sea, awash with a torrent of desire.

“You are my wife,” he murmured. “I shall be your only from henceforth. How could I feel anything but satisfaction that none else shall know you as you are now?”

Indeed he was a storm, and he swept her away, leaving her powerless under his onslaught.

“I intend on taking you until I am full moulded by your shape,” she murmured quietly. “My body and my mind shall remember none other than you, mine Aymeric.”

The Warrior eased herself onto him, pushing her smallclothes aside to allow him to slip into her core. His soft hiss resonated within her ears as she sank down on him slowly, rising and falling, each pass allowing him to breach her deeper.

This sensation of feeling most full then startlingly empty--it had her biting at her own lip, silencing her own sounds to try to hear his instead.

He was tense beneath her, straining against the cords that yet bound his wrists. Her name was the call upon his lips, barely a whisper as she took him deep. He groaned when he was fully hilted inside of her, head falling forward to rest upon her shoulder.

He moved not from that position, shuddering beneath her, within her.

She stilled, holding his head to her with a soft hand to his crown, and she kissed him gently upon his temple. “Aymeric? Pray, speak to me.”

“--Gods above, I cannot,” he exclaimed breathlessly.

“Cannot?” She echoed.

“Ask not for my speech, I have not the words,” Aymeric replied, his words terse and curt in an uncharacteristic manner. Beneath her, he shifted, and ground himself against her core most deliciously. “You render me-- _thoughtless_ , I cannot think of anything but you.”

And in the aftermath of such devoted words, the Warrior could do naught but to complement such a devoted love, returning unto Aymeric the ardour he had for her.

Her love was glorious upon his bed, just as resplendent tangled in his sheets as he was standing in the Vault, his hand held fast to hers. His skin glowed under the candlelight, beading with sweat in their mutual exertions.

The cord soon lay forgotten upon the sheets as he grabbed at her hips, holding her tight as she rocked back and forth upon him, taking him higher and higher into the realms of pleasure. He was helpless beneath her, moaning into her lips as she kissed him, touched his ears and chest, had him touch her in return.

His hands were clumsy, touching her without thought of strength or finesse; he cupped at her breast, kissed her neck fervently. He touched her thighs, thumbed at the fragile lace in an attempt at appreciating them, but he soon trembled as his pleasure hit, his nails tearing the fabric without a single thought.

And when he came, he cried out into her skin, her nails biting into his shoulders as she trembled around him.

Her own satisfaction mattered not in the face of his radiant countenance. He smiled at her, exhaustion clinging to his features as she pulled herself from his lap, his seed dripping down the length of her thigh.

His black locks curled before his eyes, granting him an appearance most angelic, if angelic beings could have bitten lips and flushed cheeks.

“--It… Mine apologies,” he murmured, his hands falling back to her thighs where her stockings now lay ripped. “These were beautiful.”

“Apologise not. You enjoyed yourself most fully, I take it,” she replied, laughing.

“I did,” he admitted, turning his eyes away from her. “Did… I have not the slightest understanding of how women, ah, receive their own pleasures. Did you enjoy yourself?” He then asked, reaching up to take hold of her face.

The Warrior smiled, ignoring the throb between her legs. “Let it never be said that the Ser Aymeric de Borel does not satisfy,” she murmured. “He is a most admirable lover, as he is lord and commander.”

“Full glad am I,” Aymeric stated. He kissed her indolently, all shyness gone in the face of their carnal act.

She smiled against his lips, and huffed out a soft laugh. “Do not kiss me as if we are finished, my love,” she murmured. “I am still in need of you. I shall not let you rest until I have had you a number of times more.”

Aymeric gave pause here, and a thread of bashfulness appeared upon his countenance. “I am at your service, my lady wife.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be smutty but Aymeric decided otherwise.
> 
> EDIT: Oh look! Smut!


End file.
